


Aid

by blue_eyes_incognito



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Legal Drama, mild to moderate angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7143617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_eyes_incognito/pseuds/blue_eyes_incognito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three months after closing up Nelson and Murdock for good and having a falling-out with Karen that has ended their friendship entirely, Matt has found a new rhythm to his life working for Legal Aid during the day and continuing his mission as Daredevil at night. As any court-appointed defense attorney, his caseload is perpetually overwhelming, but he makes it his mission to keep every innocent client out of jail. When he's assigned the case of an exotic dancer accused of murdering a Wall Street executive, he finds himself in the middle of a high-profile trial defending an innocent client whom everyone believes is guilty with the New York Bulletin's newest legal beat reporter and founding president of the "Matt Murdock is an Asshole" society, Karen Page, covering the whole thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What follows in an experiment. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this yet. I don't have the greatest track record of finishing what I start when it comes to multi-chapter, original storylines like this. I do know that I don't intend for this to turn into an epic and that at the very least, I have a general idea of my endgame and how long in story-time it should take to get there. If I never finish this, I apologize in advance to anyone who becomes invested in this story. I swear I'll never post an incomplete work again.

It had been nearly three months since Matt Murdock locked the door behind him at Nelson and Murdock for the final time, dropped the key into the hand of the building manager, and walked away from his dream of working for himself. He'd settled into a routine in his new job at Legal Aid, representing indigent defendants and mostly cutting plea bargains. His caseload was far too heavy to devote the time he wished he could to every case file that appeared in his inbox each morning, and he often regretted not being able to do more for his clients--many of whom were innocent but would still spend thousands of hours doing community service and paying thousands of dollars to be on probation they didn't deserve. But at least they weren't in prison.

Not all of his clients were innocent, of course, and he could tell right away the guilty ones. The ones he couldn't convince to plead guilty, he'd rush into the first plea bargain the prosecution offered, not wanting to waste time that he could be spending defending the innocent ones whose charges were so severe, that no plea bargain would satisfy his goal of keeping every innocent client he had out of jail. And today, he had plead out nearly a dozen guilty clients before noon to do just that.

Diamond Parker was an exotic dancer at one of Hell's Kitchen's seedier cabarets until she'd been arrested for the murder of Arnold Preston, a wealthy and high-profile Wall Street executive who had been a regular of the establishment. Preston had a reputation there of showering large amounts of cash on whichever dancer he'd taken a liking to on a given evening and running up thousand-dollar tabs, so despite his reputation of taking liberties with the dancers, his behavior was largely ignored and his presence there tolerated by the management. Diamond had been his latest interest and conquest until he tried to force himself on her during a private dance, and she used her sway with one of the newer bouncers, who took a particularly dim view of Preston's behavior to start with, and had him thrown out. He was found the next morning in an alley a block over from the club with four bullets in his chest. The bullets matched the .380 that Diamond had registered in her name and that she carried in her purse. She insisted that her gun had gone missing the day before and that she hadn't reported it stolen yet because she wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't somewhere in her apartment.

On the surface, Diamond looked guilty. But once Matt spoke to her and listened to her heartbeat as she tearfully told her story and maintained her innocence, he knew that she was an honest woman in an impossible situation. 

"You got to believe me, Mr. Murdock. I had him throwed out, and I was so shook up I spent the nex' hour backstage curled up in a ball. Scoops--he the manager--he was mad I lost him a whale an' kep' yellin' at me to go shake my ass on stage and find a new one. I was dancin' the res' of that night! I ain't get home 'til six in the mornin', an' my place is in th' other direction from where they foun' Mr. Preston!" Diamond's voice was tense, but even, and though her heart was beating with the quickness of someone very scared, its rhythm didn't falter once as she spoke.

"I believe you, Ms. Parker," Matt said as he leaned forward and folded his hands over the case file that sat in front of him on the interrogation table. He heard her exhale and her heart rate slow down slightly. 

"But how much you gon' help me, really? Pretty white boy like you prolly lookin' to move up in the world more'n you wanna waste your time wit' some stripper who can't even afford her own lawyer," Diamond said cynically. Matt looked somewhat taken aback.

"I won't lie to you, Ms. Parker, my caseload is very heavy. Overwhelming, even. But I'm here because I want to be here, not because I'm trying to climb any ladders or make a name for myself. I genuinely want to help, and I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're cleared of this. Is that alright?"

Diamond nodded. The room sat silent for nearly a minute before Matt spoke again.

"Diamond? Are you willing to let me represent you?"

Diamond looked at him quizzically, noticing for the first time the red and white cane that was folded on the end of the table and the Braille printouts in the folder in front of her lawyer. The tinted glasses indoors should really have been her first clue, but dark glasses in dark rooms were not so unusual in her line of work. "Oh, shit, you blind," she said partly under her breath. "Yes. Sorry, yes. I nodded before and I'm so worked up I didn' realize..."

Matt smiled slightly. He'd sensed her nod, of course, but it was second nature to him to pretend that he didn't recognize those cues. He always felt a little bad about putting people in just this kind of uncomfortable situation, especially if they were already under a lot of stress like Diamond was. "It's fine," he said, "Just a funny story to tell your friends over drinks when you get acquitted."

Diamond cracked a tiny smile, her first in days, probably. She liked this Mr. Murdock, and more importantly, she trusted him.

\--

Karen was less than thrilled over her newest assignment. She was to cover the trial of the stripper who'd been accused of killing a Wall Street banker, because apparently everyone loves a scandal, especially when it has a whiff of anything salacious. Karen found the whole thing distasteful. The only thing that gave this story even a hint of intrigue to her was that a public defender was even bringing this to trial instead of working out a plea bargain. From what little she knew so far, the case seemed open-and-shut--the guy was shot with her handgun, and she had more than enough reason to do it. The defense attorney was probably one of those wide-eyed, idealistic kids, straight out of law school and still filled with the belief that she could change the world in Legal Aid.

Karen convinced herself that at least the whole spectacle might be good for a laugh. She then began to wonder when exactly she'd become so cynical. After all, she had once been accused of a murder she didn't commit, and she sure as hell didn't look innocent of it. She picked up the printout of the arraignment transcript and began perusing it in preparation for the beginning of the trial the next day. Her heart sunk deep into her stomach when she noticed the name of the attorney of record for the defense: Matthew M. Murdock.

"You have got to be kidding me," she said to herself, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

She hadn't spoken to Matt in over three months. The last words she said to him before knocking over a glass of water and storming out of his apartment suddenly rang in her ears, as if she'd just uttered them.

"If you want to keep trying to kill yourself out of some warped sense of guilt, then go right ahead! But don't you dare pretend that you're doing it for anyone but yourself! I can't do this anymore, Matt. Don't call me. And I don't care if you hear me dying, don't try to save me. I never want to see you again."

Karen poured a generous measure of Scotch into a glass from the bottle she kept in her desk drawer and took a large gulp. She'd be sitting in the gallery, probably near the back. She wouldn't have to interact with him; she could just report on the trial like he was any other lawyer. But he'd still know she was there with those inhuman senses of his. She took another healthy swallow of Scotch before setting the glass back on her desk and returning to the arraignment transcript. Somewhere around the second page, where Matt had begun arguing for pre-trial release for his client, Karen's mind wandered to the first time she'd ever seen him, striding cockily and smiling cheekily because he and Foggy got their first client, and he knew from the beginning she was innocent. 

Karen lowered the papers into her lap and recalled a conversation she'd had with Matt and Foggy about the clients at Nelson and Murdock. Matt had said that they only accepted clients they knew were innocent. She'd always thought that was a joke, but knowing what she knew now about Matt and his abilities and what he'd told her about how he knew she was telling him the truth about her innocence on the night they met...

Diamond Parker was innocent. She had to be.


	2. Chapter 2

Karen walked briskly down the main hallway of the courthouse, reading the placards next to the doors looking for Courtroom 9. She'd just passed Courtroom 5, and the numbers were ascending. Of course it would be at the far end of the hall. She cursed her decision to wear new shoes that day, as they were equally responsible as the delayed train she was on for the fact that she was arriving just three minutes before noon instead of her intended fifteen. She reached Courtroom 9 and slid into an empty space on the back bench of the already-crowded gallery. She looked around at the other people who filled the benches, including the family of Arnold Preston, what appeared to be several of his Wall Street colleagues, and the expected contingent of reporters, spectators, and looky-loos. She scanned the seats near the front of the defendant's side, expecting to see, perhaps family or friends of Diamond Parker. She doubted any of the people in suits in the front row were there for her--they all looked like they worked here. On the second row, she spotted a thin girl with a face far sadder than her maybe sixteen or seventeen years should allow seated next to a stern-looking older man who sat so still that Karen wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't a mannequin. The girl resembled Diamond rather strongly, her sister, perhaps. The man next to her, likely their father.

'How awful to have to see your child on trial for murder,' Karen thought to herself. Just beyond where she was looking in the second row, she caught movement at the defendant's table out of the corner of her eye, and her gaze snapped to Matt Murdock leaning toward his client and speaking to her quietly and seriously. Karen's stomach lurched as she became aware of his presence, and it churned slightly as she found herself unable to look away. He appeared tired and far more disheveled-looking that she was used to seeing him, his hair somewhat askew, the back of his jacket wrinkled, and his tie crooked. She was also pretty sure that she could make out a light bruise on his temple and a cut above his lip--likely evidence that he'd been continuing his nighttime activities. She'd become so absorbed in taking in every detail that she could about Matt, that she nearly forgotten where she was, and when the baliff announced the judge, she almost jumped out of her skin.

"All rise, the Honorable Judge Joseph Dunbar presiding, docket number 180905-17, the People versus Diamond Parker."

Karen scrambled to her feet as Judge Dunbar strode into the courtroom from his chambers and sat behind the bench. 'Dunbar...why do I feel like I know that name,' she thought as the judge instructed everyone to take a seat. She settled back into her place and combed her memory for why the judge's name rang a bell, unable to remember. So intent she was in trying to recover this memory, she nearly missed the beginning of the prosecution's opening statement. She flipped open her notebook and clicked her pen, poised to take notes on anything relevant and trying to push the puzzle of why the judge's name was so important to the back of her mind. The ADA layed out the facts of the case much as she'd read them in the police report and in the arraignment transcript. His delivery was confident and straightforward, as if he were convinced the case were already won. Karen suspected he'd never actually met Matt.

Finally, Matt stood to give his opening statement for the defense. Karen found herself leaning forward involuntarily, as Matt was somewhat of an artist when it came to opening and closing statements, but she'd never actually heard him deliver one in court.

\--

Matt sat at the defense table, going over his opening statement in his head, listening to snatches of conversation from people in the gallery, and eavesdropping slightly on the whispers between ADA Thompson and his second chair. As he moved his attention around the room, gauging the mood, his ears picked up an echo of familiar footfalls approaching the courtroom door. He froze, and a nervous heat pulsed from his heart, down his arms, and into his hands. The door opened, and the palpable change to the room caused by the new presence confirmed his initial hunch--Karen.

Matt's mouth had suddenly gone dry. He reached for the water glass that set on the edge of the table and took a sip, wondering what she was doing here. It wasn't for him, to be sure, not after the way their last conversation had ended. And he'd mostly respected her wishes. He hadn't contacted her since that night, and only once did he check on her personally on his nightly patrols, about a month after she'd stormed out, because he had a terrible feeling that he couldn't shake. And under no circumstances was he genuinely going to let her come to harm, regardless of what she had said. But it turned out that terrible feeling was misplaced. Karen was on a date, and it was clearly going well. It felt like a punch to the gut for Matt, and he briefly felt like intentionally missing the next rooftop he jumped to. But it definitely broke him of wanting to check up on Karen like that again.

But now, he couldn't help it. He raked his hand through his hair absently as he focused in on Karen, who sounded slightly out of breath, her heart rate elevated, but slowing. He felt a tap on his arm.

"Mr. Murdock?" Diamond's voice sounded like she was calling him from a block away. "Mr. Murdock?" She repeated, drawing his focus entirely this time. Matt cleared his throat and turned to face her.

"Yes, sorry, what is it?" he replied, leaning toward her so they could speak as quietly as possible.

"How much do you think they gonna talk about what happened that night? 'Bout what he do to me?" Diamond had a weary edge to her voice.

"They'll probably mention it, since they're claiming it's your motive," he replied, keeping his tone as even as possible, having found that it tended to keep Diamond calm, even if he was delivering bad news.

"Was afraid of that. My baby sister's here. And my dad. Was hopin' they wasn't gonna have to hear about it. Never really wanted them to know what I was really doin' here. Too late now, I guess."

"I'll try to temper it the best I can, alright? It's my job to make you look good." Matt offered a smile to try to set Diamond a little more at ease. She sat back in her seat and seemed to relax slightly, but she was understandably still quite nervous.

And speaking of nervous, Matt had never once felt anxious in court, but he could feel Karen's gaze on the back of his neck, and it was beginning to make him sweat. He felt it break when the bailiff announced the judge, a cool sort of relief washing over him as it did. There was once a time where he'd have given anything to be the sole object of Karen Page's attention, but now it seemed to bring up intrusive thoughts that were only serving to distract him and put him off-balance. He found himself beginning to half-suspect that someone on the prosecution had invited her to do just that. But as ADA Thompson began his opening statement, he heard the flipping of notebook pages and the click of a pen. Of course. She was here for the _Bulletin_. This only made him feel slightly better. Had she requested this assignment, or was it given to her? How did she seem so calm while he sat here sweating under his jacket like a sinner in church?

Matt took several deep breaths while trying to focus on the prosecution's opening statement. It was formulaic and overly-confident, as he'd predicted it would be. If it was any indication to the rest of their case, he began to feel more confident that he'd prepared the correct defense. As he rose to give his own opening statement, he felt Karen's intent gaze like two needles in his back. He inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders and trying to block her out. He picked up his cane from where it sat folded on the corner of the table, extended it, and took a couple of steps forward, turning toward the jury. He stood quietly for a moment, quickly gauging a baseline for each juror's heartbeat and demeanor and trying to pick out which ones he could most easily gain favor with.

"Good afternoon," Matt finally began, flashing a warm smile at the jury and detecting a marked increase in the heart rates of two younger female jurors and a middle-aged male juror. "The facts of this case, as the prosecution has outlined them, probably make you believe that this should be open-and-shut, and that I'm wasting your time. I'd ask you to trust that I'm not, but I do understand that I'm a lawyer, and that trust isn't something so easily given to someone in my profession."

Several jurors and people in the gallery chuckled. Matt tilted his head down with a closed-lip smile before continuing. "The facts seem pretty damning, but the facts can also be deceiving. Ms. Parker didn't leave work until nearly six in the morning that day. Mr. Preston, according to the medical examiner, was shot nearly five hours earlier. The prosecution will contend that my client had ample opportunity to leave and return to her place of employment during that time frame, but I will produce several witnesses who will testify under oath that she never left the premises. The prosecution will also contend that the nature of my client's business relationship with Mr. Preston provided ample motive for her to kill him. I will prove to you that this is a gross mischaracterization of Mr. Preston's victimization of my client, and I will further demonstrate that this was a long pattern of misbehavior on the part of Mr. Preston toward not only Ms. Parker, but many of her coworkers. Misbehavior that was tolerated and even encouraged by my client's superiors, because Mr. Preston spent so much money at their establishment."

Matt paused again before concluding, gauging the mood of the jury before he decided the exact tone and final direction he wished to take. It seemed that he's piqued their interest and placed a seed of doubt in many of their minds. "Ladies and gentlemen, that my client's trauma at the hands of Arnold Preston on the night he died made her the only suspect in his murder is not only callous, but irresponsible. Given the history of Mr. Preston's behavior at the establishment and his involvement with several other dancers there, I contend that there is a far wider pool of suspects that the detectives of the NYPD and the District Attorney's office never cared to investigate. While it is not my intention here to point fingers, through the course of this trial I intend to demonstrate to you both the possibility and the likelihood that another party is responsible for the murder of Mr. Preston and that my client is not only innocent, but a victim in her own right. Thank you."

Matt walked slowly back to his seat, taking extra care to make a show of using his cane to find it. He folded the cane and placed it back on the corner of the table before feeling his way back to the chair and lowering himself into it carefully.

"Damn, he's good," he overheard someone several rows behind him whisper to the person next to them. He allowed himself a moment of pride. The judge called a recess for lunch, after which the prosecution would present its first witness.

\--

Karen silently cursed the unwanted feelings she was having as she watched and listened to Matt give his opening statement. The way he used his cane as a prop and his blindness to endear himself to the jury without ever truly drawing attention to it was both masterful and infuriating. Had he literally been any other blind lawyer, these would not be thoughts she would be having, but she knew Matt didn't need that cane, and she knew Matt was not just any blind lawyer. He stood silently for several moments, his head tilted as if he were confused or was trying to recall what he wanted to say. But then she realized--he was listening, probably to the heartbeats and the breath of everyone on the jury, trying to get a real-time read on how they were responding to him.

Again, Karen couldn't decide whether to be impressed or upset--what an unfair advantage! But what a great strategy! Had he done that with every case they'd tried at Nelson and Murdock? She'd really only seen Matt in court the one time, during Frank's trial. And somehow he knew about that juror being paid off, which suddenly made much more sense.

And now he was flashing that smile of his and greeting the jury with a terrible quip about lawyers and trust. Karen snorted quietly to herself. If only they knew. But as he continued talking, she watched the jury fell deeper under his spell, his words and even tone almost hypnotic. As he concluded, she found that the resentment that she'd been feeling toward him was beginning to thaw, and a familiar, nostalgic warmth had started to take its place, even in spite of the ridiculous production he put on in returning to his seat.

When the court went into recess, the room cleared out quickly. The bailiff escorted Diamond away to a holding room, the judge retreated to chambers, and Matt hurried off somewhere, likely to his office or another court if his case load looked like any other public defender's. Karen stayed put, scribbling notes and half-baked thoughts and ideas into her notebook. A handful of others remained behind in the gallery, including Diamond's sister and father.

"Do you want lunch?" the man asked his daughter. She looked at her feet and shook her head. "Maybe just something small? You haven't eaten a bite today, Desmona," he said, pleading with her gently. She shrugged, still looking down. "Let's go see what we can find. I need to get something so I can take my pill," he said, standing up and helping her up by her elbow at the same time. He led her out of the courtroom, and as they passed Karen, she was struck by exactly how defeated Diamond's sister looked. It tugged at something inside of her, something that she'd long buried and hoped to keep that way. Between the feelings that having Matt in the courtroom was stirring up and the memories that this girl was threatening to bring to the surface, Karen became determined to trade this assignment off to someone else. She had finally found a sense of peace and balance in her life without Matt Murdock and without her past constantly threatening her present happiness. And she'd be damned if she was going to let this one stupid case, this one stupid assignment, bring that all crashing down on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not originally intend to write Matt's entire opening statement. In another lifetime, I was a pre-law student, so I wrote my fair share of these for mock trial cases, but it's literally been a decade since I've even touched trial procedure, so just pretend that Matt's opening statement is actually awesome instead of the genuine weaksauce that it is.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt flopped face-first onto his bed with a groan. His lower legs dangled off the edge of the mattress and his slackened face seemed to melt downward onto his rumpled sheets. He'd only bothered taking off his shoes, tie, and jacket before giving up to lie down. It had been the longest of long days, and if Daredevil was going out tonight, it wasn't over yet. Matt contemplated taking the night off. He'd been awake since 4 a.m., was running on three hours of sleep and enough caffeine to probably kill him, and he'd cleared close to thirty cases today on top of the start of the Diamond Parker trial. He groaned again and closed his eyes, remembering how Karen's mere presence had upset him and dreading her sitting there staring burning holes into his back for the rest of the trial. He wondered if speaking to her would make that dread go away, or if disregarding her wish that he not contact her would only make things worse. 

He resolved to do his best to pretend she wasn't there but to welcome her gesture should she wish to speak to him first. He knew that would be difficult. Karen's mere presence changed the way a room felt to him. Clouds turned to sunshine; winter turned to spring. It didn't matter how poorly things were between them, Karen would always feel like warmth and light to him. Though in their current state of affairs, she felt like a roaring fire or a nuclear blast, making him sweat beneath his suit jacket and leaving burns wherever she looked. 

Matt rolled onto his back and began to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, undoing them slowly with tired, clumsy fingers. Perhaps it was a bad idea to patrol tonight. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stay upright if he tried right now. Before he'd even finished unbuttoning his shirt, Matt fell asleep, his legs still dangling over the foot of his bed.

\--

Karen sat on her couch, legs curled under her, a beer in one hand, and her notes from the trial in the other. A grouchy look set upon her face, perturbed and upset that positively no one would take this assignment off her hands. It was as if there was some conspiracy among her coworkers to keep her on this case. She hated everything about it--the attention it was getting because the murder victim was some Wall Street bigshot brought low in the seediest part of Hell's Kitchen, the fact that Matt was the defense attorney assigned to the case, the emotions and the memories the whole thing was dredging up--everything. 

Her eyes drifted to the portion of her notes on Matt's opening statement. She smirked at the words, "Smug asshole," that were printed slightly larger and neater than everything else she'd scribbled on the page. That did about sum up that opening statement, she thought, though she was pretty sure that was not an appropriate assessment for print. She sat her beer on the coffee table, opened her laptop, sat it on her legs, and began typing out an article summarizing the events that had transpired during the trial earlier that day. She only needed to fill about 400 words, enough to give people an overview of the opening statements and the prosecution's first witness, the first officer to arrive on the scene after Preston's body had been found. If she were to be quite honest with herself, the only truly interesting thing that had happened was Matt's opening statement. And as she wrote, she found herself involuntarily typing, then deleting sentences like, "Murdock dazzled the jury with his opening statement and his smile." How tabloid. But it wasn't wrong. Hoping to get whatever it was that was causing this terrible streak of writing out of her system, she typed, "Damn you Matt Murdock and your stupid face, making me want to make this about you instead of this stupid case that I wish I didn't have to cover." 

She leaned back and read the sentence a few times before deleting it. But before she could stop it, this had formed an idea in her mind. She had to cover the facts of this case, yes. And her stupid brain could not get off trying to make it about Matt at every turn. But what if she could do both by framing the story around the plight of the overworked public defender? Some of them were terrible lawyers, to be certain. She'd met enough of those while at Nelson and Murdock. The one from the Castle case always stuck in her mind in particular. But as she often did with people who initially rubbed her the wrong way, she'd later given him a second consideration and realized that he was only trying to move up and make his place in the world just like anyone else, and he was just putting his faith in the wrong people. Karen could certainly relate to that, having done so enough times herself. 

But then there was Matt. On one hand, Legal Aid seemed like the logical place for him to be if he couldn't continue his mission of defending the innocent at Nelson and Murdock. On the other, the low-glamour, heavy workload, and even lower pay seemed somehow demeaning to a man who had graduated near the top of his class from Columbia and was likely one of the most skilled lawyers in all of New York. But as she thought about it more deeply, she realized that perhaps that was exactly why he was there. "Everyone should have the right to a good attorney," he'd once said after accepting what seemed like their hundredth trade for services from a grateful client who couldn't afford to pay in cash, "It's a damned tragedy that the wealthy get all of the good lawyers while everyone else gets stuck with whatever's left."

She smiled as she remembered what he did after that. The trade had included a large basket of piping hot samosas from Lakshmi Patel, the mother of a boy who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when a robbery had occurred, and had been picked up as having matched the description of one of the suspects while walking home from school. Matt had plucked one of the samosas from the basket and took a large bite. His eyes watered and his face turned red as he tried not to spit out the curried potato filling that was still lava-hot. He opened and closed his mouth and moved the bite to-and-fro with his tongue, somewhat resembling a fish in distress as he did so. 

"That was a mistake," he wheezed as he filled a cup with water from the faucet and drank a mouthful, swishing it around before swallowing. 

Karen recalled stifling a giggle as Foggy had made some kind of smartass remark, the exact wording of which was now lost to her. She took a long swig of her beer as she stared with unfocused eyes beyond her laptop screen into her living room, feeling suddenly nostalgic. She decided that if she wanted to make this about public defenders later, she could. But for this article, she was going to phone it in. Just the facts, no color. With 430 words in the can, she emailed it to her editor. Nostalgia still tugging at her heart, she picked up her phone and called Foggy.

\--

Foggy was surprised to see Karen's name pop up on his caller ID. Both he and Karen had become busy in their new lives away from Nelson and Murdock and had mostly fallen out of touch. They saw each other occasionally, usually crossing paths at a deli or bumping into each other getting coffee. Typically, they'd exchange pleasantries, engage in a little small talk ("How have you been? What are you up to these days? Did you see the game last night?"), and go their separate ways, though occasionally they had time for a longer chat. Through this he'd learned about some of the major developments in Karen's life--that she'd stopped speaking to Matt entirely, that she had been assigned to the legal beat at the _Bulletin_ , and that she'd started seeing a guy from work. Likewise, he'd shared with Karen his struggle to raise the funds for his partnership buy-in at Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz, that he and Marci had become an item, that he and Marci were again no longer an item, and that he'd adopted a dog.

Foggy answered the call with a tone of concern. "Karen? Is everything ok?"

Karen hesitated for a moment, jarred slightly by Foggy's assumption. "H-hey Foggy. Yeah. Nothing's wrong. I was just wondering if you had time to grab a drink or two."

"Uh, yeah...actually, I was just finishing up here and was about to head down to that little dive...Luke's, I think it's called. It's a hair classier than Josie's. One of Jeri's clients recommended it to me."

"Oh yeah, I know that place," Karen said, "Bartender's kind of a big guy who's a little too calm?"

"That's the one," Foggy replied, "Meet you there in half an hour?"

"I can do that," Karen said.

"Great. It'll be nice to catch up. See you in a bit." Foggy ended the call, happy for the chance to reconnect a bit with Karen, but still curious as to what prompted her to reach out in the first place.

Slightly more than thirty minutes later, he walked through the door at Luke's, finding Karen already sitting at the bar with a bottle of that awful cheap beer she and Matt both inexplicably liked. She looked up and waved him over, a weary-looking smile on her face. He pulled up the stool next to her.

"Hey," he said cheerfully, "What's up?"

"I'm not even sure," Karen replied, taking a sip of her beer, "I'm sorry I called you out of the blue like that, but this assignment they've got me on at the Bulletin...I needed someone to talk to, and I think you're the only one who might understand."

The bartender walked over at just that moment. "Can I get you anything?" he asked Foggy.

"Uh, yeah. Vodka martini? Extra olive?"

"You bet." The bartender walked away to take care of Foggy's order.

"Martinis again? Are you and Marci back together?" Karen teased.

Foggy started and restarted his sentence three times before finally answering, "You know, I don't even know anymore. But I do know that these have grown on me."

Foggy gestured to the drink the bartender had set in front of him as he finished speaking. He picked it up and took a large sip, trying to hide the face the flavor of his beverage caused him to make. But Karen was just a bit more perceptive than that.

"Clearly," she said sarcastically, taking another drink of her beer.

Several beats passed between them before Foggy spoke up again. "So what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Karen picked at the label of her beer bottle. "This case my editor's assigned me to. That Wall Street bigshot who was murdered last month."

"The one with the stripper?" Foggy raised his eyebrows and sounded far more enthusiastic than Karen had hoped he would be. She rolled her eyes slightly.

"Yeah, that one," she said, her tone flat.

"Why don't you sound more excited about this?" Foggy asked, "This is probably one of the highest-profile criminal cases you've covered since that piece you wrote on the Castle trial."

"Well it's awful, to start," Karen said, "the way everyone is treating this case like it's tabloid fodder. I hate it."

Foggy nodded, suspecting that Karen was leading up to the real reason why she felt she needed to talk to him, specifically, about this.

"Also, Matt's the public defender."

There it was. Karen had spoken those words so quickly, at almost a mumble, that Foggy almost didn't catch what she'd said. 

"Oh," he said simply, the word sounding like the air being slowly let out of his lungs. He was going to need to drink more to get through where he knew this conversation was heading. He took a large drink of his martini, downing about half of it in a single gulp and trying his best not to taste it.

"You should really order something you actually like," Karen advised, regarding Foggy out of the corner of her eye. "And if you don't want to listen to me talk about this, that's fine. I'd be just as happy to have an evening out where I don't have to think about it at all."

Foggy debated for a moment whether to take the out Karen was offering. He wasn't sure he could handle what was bound to become a drunk-sobbing-mess-Karen again, but somehow he felt he owed it to her. 

"No, I know you need to get this out. Just...go easy on the drinks, huh? I don't want to have to hold your hair like last time. Vomit and me...well, you know."

Karen smiled weakly. After Matt had told her his big secret last Christmas, she'd confided in Foggy the next day, as he was the only one she could talk to about it. She actually remembered very little of that evening, recalling only a handful of increasingly embarrassing flash memories, culminating in her waking up on Foggy's bathroom floor with puke in her hair and dried snot all over her face.

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's an experience I want to repeat, either. Hold me to maybe three more after this."

"Sounds like a plan," Foggy said, smiling warmly. "So Matt's taken a case to trial as a public defender, huh? Wow...I've got to say I'm actually kind of impressed."

Karen held back a smile, pressing her lips together and tucking her hair behind her ear instead. "Yeah, it surprised me, too. But watching him this afternoon...it suits him somehow."

"It sounds to me like you've found a reason to enjoy this assignment," Foggy said, attempting to be matter-of-fact, but coming off a little more teasing than he'd intended. 

Karen narrowed her eyes. "I'm still so angry with him, Fog, you can't even...or maybe you can...I don't know..."

"Oh, I know," Foggy assured her.

"But seeing him today, hearing his opening statement, watching that whole production he does for the jury...it reminded me too much of old times. It made me feel things that I..." Karen trailed off and brought her beer bottle to her lips, finishing off the last of the bottle. She signaled to the bartender for another.

Foggy pursed his lips. This was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, look! It's Foggy!


	4. Chapter 4

Matt was so sound asleep when his alarm clock sounded, that it startled him enough that he nearly fell out of bed. He swatted in the clock's direction, hitting the button to turn it off, and hearing it announce in its robotic voice, "The current time is four-o'-one a.m." He blinked several times and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, which was dry from sleeping with it open. Finally, with a resigned groan, he stood up, stretched, scratched, and shuffled groggily toward the kitchen to start the coffee pot. He rubbed his fingers along his jaw, trying to decide if he needed to shave this morning, or if he could put it off another day. His stubble was beginning to feel substantial and was gaining the softness that it did once it reached the four- or five-day mark. He weighed whether it was worth it to him to do it now and sleep in the extra fifteen minutes tomorrow, or if he'd rather sit down and drink his coffee leisurely this morning.

He considered that he'd be cross-examining at least two of the prosecution's witnesses today. And he knew he always came off as a dick to juries on cross. It was probably a good idea to go for the more trustworthy baby-faced look while he was otherwise making himself unlikeable. So shaving this morning, it was. Matt carried his coffee cup into the bathroom, setting it on the counter. He then picked up his electric razor and ran it carefully and methodically across his face, stopping every few strokes to feel where he'd just shaved, making sure that he hadn't missed a spot, and taking a drink of his coffee. The process was tedious, and he'd long been tempted just to grow a beard and be done with it, but the thought of keeping a beard evenly trimmed seemed an even more daunting task than just shaving a couple times a week. Finally, after he was satisfied that there were no rogue patches of whiskers, he cleaned the shaver and set it back on its charger before turning on the faucet to wash his face. 

Matt walked back into his bedroom, patting his face with a towel, and wondering if he had time to take a quick shower. He'd been so tired the night before that he never made it that far in his evening routine before passing out in his clothes, which still clung to him, sad and rumpled. He tapped the button on top of his clock and it announced, "The current time is four-thirty-eight a.m." 

If he kept it under five minutes, he might still make it to work close to on-time. He walked quickly back into the bathroom and turned on the shower, not even waiting for the water to heat up before stepping in. He yelped as the cold water hit his skin, but it did help to wake him up a little more. The water warmed as he quickly scrubbed his hair and the rest of his body. He shut off the water and grabbed a towel from the rack, rubbing his hair and drying the rest of himself as he walked naked, leaving wet footprints on the floor, from the bathroom to his closet, contemplating silently the best suit to wear today. He felt the tags on his hangers each in turn, considering the subtle implications of each color and fabric type. 

He settled on the grey flannel, and it crossed his mind that this was Karen's favorite. A small smile crossed his lips as it occurred to him that if she was going to sit in the gallery and make him uncomfortable, that he should give as good as he got. His fingers danced across the hangers as he selected (according to the tag on the hanger) a crisp white shirt with the midnight blue tie that Karen had given him for his birthday last year. He typically stuck to black ties, as it was one less thing he had to label meticulously in order to get dressed in the morning, but he had a few shirts that he had specifically paired with the more colorful ties that friends and clients tended to give him as gifts. And it seemed appropriate today to wear the tie Karen had gifted him along with the suit that he knew was her favorite on him, as a quiet nod in her direction and a direct attempt at delivering to her a little of the discomfort she'd placed on him yesterday.

He dressed swiftly, smoothing the front of his tie and clipping it to his shirt. He then picked up a comb from the top of his dresser, ran it through his still-damp hair a few times, and hoped for the best. If it looked too bad, Heather, the paralegal who sat two cubicles over, would help him fix it when he got to work. He checked the time once more ("The current time is four-fifty-seven a.m.") before rushing back to the kitchen to pour more coffee into a Thermos, picking up his glasses from where he'd left them on the table by the door and sliding them onto his face, and gathering his keys, his cane, and his briefcase before rushing out the door to the subway.

\--

Karen rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head to block out the sun that was shining brightly through her bedroom window and into her eyes. Her mouth was parched, and she was slightly hungover, but thanks to Foggy and his stern insistence that she keep to her proposed drink limit last night, it wasn't anything that a cup of coffee, a good breakfast, and a couple of aspirin couldn't help her shake before she had to be at the courthouse by eleven. She sat up, squinting, and reached for the glass of water on her bedside table. She gulped it down, soothing the parched feeling left by her drunken slumber, and set the glass back on the nightstand. She rubbed her face and groaned as she swung her feet onto the floor and stood up. She padded into the bathroom where she rinsed her face in the sink and ran a brush through her hair a few times before shuffling into the kitchen to make coffee. Opening the cupboard, she found the canister that should have contained her coffee to be empty. She rifled through the cabinet in search of an unopened bag and finding none.

"Shit," she said under her breath, pressing her head against the edge of the open cabinet door. She closed the cupboard and turned to go put on clothes that were at least presentable enough for the diner around the corner. Grabbing a large pair of suglasses and her purse, she headed out the door and walked sleepily to the diner to get some coffee and something greasy for breakfast. She situated herself at the counter and requested coffee immediately, taking some time to peruse the menu for the breakfast items she thought would best tame her hangover. No sooner had she taken her first sip of the diner's admittedly mediocre coffee did she hear the last--no, the second-to-last voice that she wanted to hear this morning.

"Kaaaren," the female voice greeted her.

"Marci," Karen acknowledged curtly as the well-heeled blond woman took up the seat next to her.

"And what are you doing looking so hungover on this lovely Wednesday morning?" Marci's tone was intended to be good-natured, but her manner made it come off more as mocking and judgemental.

"I'm not in the mood, Marci," Karen said with a strong note of irritation. She took another drink of her coffee. 

Marci's demeanor softened. "Sorry," she said genuinely, "Just thought I'd say hello. I'll leave you to your coffee and misery." She stood up to leave.

"No, it's alright. Stay. Just...don't talk to me until I've finished this cup, 'k? I had a rough night."

Marci sat back down and nodded. She perused the menu for a moment before flagging down a waitress to order a coffee and some oatmeal.

"I wouldn't do that," Karen interjected, setting her cup on the counter. Marci looked at her curiously.

"I wouldn't either, to be honest," the waitress agreed.

Marci sighed. Everything else on the menu was either too sweet or too greasy for her tastes. "Just coffee, then. I'll grab a bagel at the office."

The waitress turned around to grab a cup and a coffee pot, and poured Marci some coffee. "Cream or sugar?" the waitress asked.

"No thanks, black is fine," she replied, bringing the cup to her lips. The waitress walked away toward the other end of the counter.

"Anything on the menu here that looks healthy should be regarded with suspicion," Karen advised, "Though the eggs are generally pretty safe."

"I'll keep that in mind. I don't usually come here, but it was convenient to where I was...coming...from..." Marci trailed off as she detected a hint of judgement coming from behind Karen's dark glasses. She must have spoken to Foggy recently.

"I was babysitting my niece," Marci said, an edge to her voice. "My sister had to take the night shift at the hospital for a couple of days and needed someone to stay with her overnight."

Karen nodded, unsure whether she believed Marci. "Your sister's a nurse?"

"Doctor. Works in the emergency department over at Mercy."

Karen nodded again, deciding to accept Marci's explanation for her presence on this side of town for breakfast. She signaled to the waitress so that she could order and get a refill on her coffee. "I'll have the hashbrowns, a side of bacon, and two eggs over-medium," she said to the waitress after she'd refilled her cup.

"Coming right up." The waitress walked to the window and called out the order in Spanish to the cooks in the back.

"So are you ready to tell me why you're hungover on a weekday?" Marci chirped, gesturing at Karen's coffee cup to indicate that the prescribed amount of time had passed.

"Not really," Karen said with little affect. It wasn't that she disliked Marci, per se, but she had a manner about her that was incredibly hard to bear except under very specific circumstances. Circumstances which typically involved cocktails and times that were not the morning after she'd bawled her eyes out to Foggy. Karen still felt emotionally ragged, though talking had seemed to help.

"Suit yourself," Marci said, taking a long drink of her coffee, "I know we're not really close or anything, and you're probably not terribly fond of how I've been to Foggy, but if you ever need some girl time..."

Karen smiled weakly. "Thanks," she said, sounding far less genuine than she'd meant it. Marci's pleasant smile faltered slightly. "I think I have your number," Karen continued, "Maybe in a couple of days. It depends on how this case I'm covering for work goes."

"Oh? Which case?" Marci asked.

"Just something stupid. I don't really want to talk about it," Karen replied, brushing off yet another of Marci's attempts to get at what was eating her.

"Fair enough," Marci said, finishing her coffee. She pulled out her wallet and placed several bills under the empty mug. "I've got to get going anyway. I've got a client meeting at nine."

"See ya', Marci," Karen said, somewhat relieved that she'd be able to eat her breakfast in peace.

"Later, K," Marci replied, "But seriously, give me a call. I know a great place for a girl's night."

Karen forced a closed-lip smile in acknowledgement. She'd decide later if she could deal with that.

\--

Matt arrived to work more-or-less on time. He'd stopped by the bakery down the block to pick up some doughnuts in hopes of using them to bribe some of the other attorneys to take a few of his cases today. He still wanted to go over the depositions of the witnesses that the prosecution was calling today one more time and finalize his outline of possible questions for his cross, but in order to do that, he'd need to drop off at least a dozen cases on his coworkers. He sat down at his desk, pushed one of the earbuds connected to his computer into his ear, and began running the fingers of one hand across the refreshable Braille display that sat next to his keyboard while rapidly pressing combinations of keyboard shortcuts with the other. This is how he sorted the case files assigned to him each morning, rapidly categorizing them using the type of charge and the number of previous offenses to determine the amount of time each case would take to clear. 

Most disorderly conduct and public intoxication charges were low time-investment cases, no matter how many priors the defendant had, as long as those were the only charges. Simple assault, petty theft, trespassing, and drug possession moved pretty quickly for first offenses, but with multiple offenses they became more complicated. Impaired driving, sexual assault, attempted murder, manslaughter, and homicide were nearly always the most time-consuming, especially if the defendant had any priors worse than jaywalking. Some cases fell between the three big groups, but Matt had found a groove with his system, and it seemed to help him optimize how many cases he could clear in a day.

He switched gears to the other cases he was still working on, checking his calendar to see which cases he was meeting prosecutors about and when he had those meetings. He frowned when he found that he was booked with plea discussions all the way up to when he had to be in court at eleven, with absolutely no blocks that morning for arraignments on new cases that he could have bargained away for extra time to work on his cross-examination.

Matt sighed and pushed back from his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He heard light footsteps approaching.

"Mr. Murdock?" Heather, the paralegal who occupied the cubicle two over from his, paused at the entrance of his cubicle.

"Yes, Heather?" Matt replied, trying not to sound too exhausted or irritated.

"I wanted to ask if you needed me to look over anything for the Parker trial before you go into court this morning."

Heather had a habit of impeccable timing, something that made her indispensible in Matt's opinion. "Actually, yes," he answered, scooting back forward to his computer, "I went over the depositons of the witnesses the prosecution is calling today, and I have an outline of potential questions for my cross that I wanted to go over again, but I'm going to be in plea meetings all morning. Would you mind taking a look to see if I missed anything?"

"Certainly!" Heather said with a bit more enthusiasm than Matt would have expected over such a task.

"Great," Matt said with a smile, "I'll email you what I have. Oh, and how's my hair?"

Heather laughed. This had become a regular joke between them, ever since Matt had walked into the office several weeks ago with what was apparently a hilariously large cow-lick.

"Behaving itself so far," she said, still chuckling. Matt smiled broadly as Heather turned and walked away. "I'll email you back any suggestions I have as soon as I'm done," she called behind her.

Matt felt a little more relaxed. Having Heather take a look at his outline lightened his load a little bit, and he might not have to pawn off so many cases after all. Which reminded him...

"Hey Heather," he called out of his cubicle, "Want a doughnut? I picked some up from Freddy's."

"Ooh," he heard her reply, "Got any Boston Cream ones?"

"Yeah, I think there's one in here."

"Save it for me, I'll grab it from you in a little bit."

"You bet."

\--

Karen made it to the courthouse with time to spare today. Her head still felt a bit heavy and clouded, but for the most part, her greasy breakfast had done the trick. The gallery wasn't quite as full as it had been the day before, perhaps owing to it still being somewhat early, and perhaps because, despite what it looked like on TV, the questioning of witnesses was actually pretty boring and tedious most of the time. She situated herself about halfway from the front on the defense's side, again taking the time to look at the people who occupied the gallery along with her. Desmona and her father occupied the same place as they had yesterday, the girl still looking sullen, but this time reading a book. Karen couldn't make out the title. The man seemed somewhat less stiff today; he was reading a newspaper with an expression of mild boredom.

Several minutes later, ADA Thompson and his co-counsel strode into the courtroom and somewhat noisily took their seats behind the prosecutor's table. Matt entered several seconds behind, pausing at the doorway for a moment. Karen's eyes were involuntarily drawn to him, and she swore that if he could see, he'd be looking directly at her. With his cane in front of him, he walked slowly across the back of the gallery and up the far side of the courtroom rather than down the aisle in the middle, as if to avoid walking directly past where Karen sat. Karen shifted her jaw as she followed him with her eyes, finding herself admiring his clean-shaven and rather snappy appearance today. She'd always liked that grey suit on him, and it was nice to see him wear a tie that was another color than black. She took another look at the tie. She'd given him that tie for his birthday! She wasn't even sure she'd ever seen him wear it before now.

Heat rose involuntarily up her neck onto her face before she took several deep breaths and tried to convince herself that it was completely ridiculous and self-centered to think that he'd chosen those clothes on purpose. No, she was just letting this get too far into her head. She pulled her phone out of her purse and busied herself with checking her messages, trying to take her eyes--and her mind--off of what Matt was or was not doing to her. She'd missed a text from Ed earlier that morning, telling her that he'd woken up with a stomach bug and asking if they could postpone their date. Karen slouched and made a face. She'd been looking forward to having dinner with Ed tonight, but she supposed he couldn't help being sick. 

"Aw :( Is there anything I can bring you?" she sent in reply. 

"Nothing right now. I'll let you know if I change my mind," came Ed's response a few moments later.

"Ok. Feel better!" she replied, her face set into a disappointed expression. She'd really been hoping that a romantic evening with Ed would help get her out of her own head about this trial.

The gallery was beginning to fill in a bit more, and the bailiff had escorted Diamond into the courtroom and to the defense table, where she now sat conversing quietly with Matt and occasionally looking over her shoulder at her father and sister. Karen pulled her notebook and pen out of her bag and leafed to a clean page just as the bailiff announced the judge. She rose to her feet for a moment, then took her seat again when instructed. She settled in and perched her notebook on her knee as the ADA called the prosecution's first witness of the day, an overnight store clerk who had been working across the street at the time that Preston had been shot. The clerk stated that he'd thought he'd heard gunshots, but that in that area, at that time of night, that wasn't so unusual. But he'd glanced out the front window anyway, and saw a female figure about Diamond's height and build running down the street.

Matt rose for cross. Karen found herself chewing the end of her pen in anticipation, because she already knew exactly how Matt was about to dismantle this witness, and she didn't want to miss a second of it. As he felt his way around the table and extended his cane, Karen regained some sense of self-awareness and mentally chastised herself. 'You're supposed to be objective here, Page, not rooting for the cute underdog quarterback like some high-schooler.' She snorted slightly at her own insult to herself and returned her attention, more calmly this time, to Matt's cross-examination, already in progress.

"According to your deposition, you said that you heard 'several' gunshots around 1:15 a.m., is that correct?" Matt asked the witness.

"Yes," the man replied.

"And could you elaborate on what you meant by 'several?' Was it three shots? Four? Five?"

"I'm not sure. Four, maybe? Possibly five?"

"And would you say that the street outside of the store where you work is not very well-lit?"

"No...I mean yes...there aren't really any streetlights."

"So the woman you saw running after you heard the gunshots, are you certain it was my client?"

The man was silent for a moment. "It was dark. I can't say for sure."

"I have no further questions at this time, Your Honor."

Matt turned to take his seat as Thompson declined to redirect and the judge dismissed the witness. Karen found herself transfixed once again by Matt's posture as he strode confidently to his seat, making minimal use of his cane. He paused momentarily, facing the gallery (facing her?), smiled slightly, and smoothed his tie before folding his cane and sitting. Karen took several shallow breaths, seething, and convinced that Matt had to be fucking with her. The suit, the tie, all the little pauses he took facing her, performing one physical tic or another, and always one that she had found so distracting when they worked together. One or two things might be a coincidence, but all of these taken together...she'd known Matt to be petty before--it was part of that warped sense of humor of his--this was on purpose. She stewed quietly, trying to pay attention as the prosecution questioned its next witness and also trying to decide if marching up to Matt outside the courtroom and laying a giant slap across his face was worth the risk of being arrested for assaulting an officer of the court. It sure as hell would feel good, she reasoned, but determined that it was probably better to just swallow her pride and speak to him like an adult instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of character development in this chapter, as well a few things to make everyone angry! (Karen's seeing someone? Matt's flirting with the paralegal? Whaaaa?) Yes, Karen is still acting like a child, but she'll get over it soon enough. Matt's also acting like a child, but we'll see more of that in Chapter 5, as well as a few things to actually get this plot moving!
> 
> Oh, also! Hi, Marci! Thanks for dropping by and helping this story pass the Bechdel Test.


	5. Chapter 5

"Manslaughter. Ten years, eligible for parole in five," Thompson said, "I'm being very generous here, Murdock."

"Forget it," Matt said, "I'm not going to let my client admit to something she had nothing to do with."

"If you believe that, then it's no wonder your firm went under. Offer expires at midnight. In case you want to reconsider."

Thompson walked away from Matt and through the doors of the courtroom, his co-counsel shadowing him wordlessly. Matt sighed, squared his shoulders, and tilted his head, listening for any conversation they might have as they walked into the courtroom, but there was none. He found the dig at the closing of Nelson and Murdock to be a bit of a low blow, but he couldn't let himself be bothered by that. He smoothed his tie absently before walking into the courtroom himself. He paused for a moment as the doors closed behind him, a quickening heartbeat catching his attention. Karen. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd dressed for her this morning. He turned his head in her direction, doing his best to maintain what he hoped was a neutral expression before walking around the far side of the gallery to his place at the defense table. 

The path down the center aisle would have taken him closer to where Karen was sitting, but his desire to toy with her was not quite as strong as his superstition about walking down the center aisle of a courtroom before his opposing counsel had rested. It was an odd notion he'd picked up from a mentor he had during an internship he took after his first year of law school. The older gentleman had been kind of old-school and insisted that it was terribly bad luck, so as long as the courtroom had another path he could take to his seat, he would avoid the center aisle religiously. Matt felt Karen's gaze follow him as he walked around the edge of the room, also sensing a minute change in the temperature of the air as her heart continued to beat quickly, indicating that she was likely a bit flushed. 

Matt tried to suppress a grin as he sat down and began to read over the notes Heather had appended to his outline that morning. As his fingers skimmed over the page, he could hear Karen's uneven breathing as she seemed to be very purposefully checking her phone. He allowed himself a small smirk. He wasn't entirely sure why this amused him so, or even why it mattered to him at all what effect he did or did not have on Karen Page. She'd made it quite clear what she thought of him and where she thought he could go. And yet here she was, so very clearly responding to him exactly how he thought she might. How he'd hoped she might.

Matt shook his head slightly at himself as the bailiff escorted Diamond into the courtroom and to the defense table, removing her handcuffs before she sat down. She rubbed at her wrists absently as Matt walked her through how today was likely to proceed.

"The prosecution's so-called eyewitness was shaky at best in his deposition. I'm honestly not even sure why they're using him. I don't think he's lying, but there's so much uncertainty in his story that it should work more in your favor than against," Matt explained.

Diamond nodded. "And the other guy?"

"Ballistics expert, testifying that the bullets came from your gun. Which we're not disputing."

"But doesn't that look bad?" Diamond asked, looking over her shoulder at where her sister and father sat.

"Maybe. But what matters is whether they can prove that you were the one holding it. And they can't. Because you weren't."

Diamond nodded again, looking down at her hands where they rested atop the table. 

A few moments later, the bailiff announced the judge, and court was called into session. Matt tried to pay attention to ADA Thompson's formulaic questioning of his supposed eyewitness, but it was like having the man's deposition recited to him. He likely need not have worried about having Heather go over his notes after all, because if this was all Thompson had, he was beginning to feel like he'd over-prepared. Matt tried not to smile as he stood up to cross-examine the witness. He could do this line of questioning in his sleep. Behind him, he heard Karen's breath catch as the end of her pen crunched between her front teeth. It was like the universe had teed up the easiest scenario possible for him to capture and hold Karen's attention in just the way he wanted, all without sacrificing anything that he felt was necessary to do his job properly. 

Matt decided that he'd take this uncommon opportunity to choreograph his movements very specifically, choosing ones that he knew from past experience to be ones that Karen found impossible to ignore. He reached over the table to pick up his cane where it sat, instead of walking around it first, causing the fabric of his jacket to stretch across his back and shoulders. He extended it and walked around the defense table, holding it perfunctorily in front of him, less concerned today about making a show of his blindness to the jury. They got the point yesterday; no need to berate them with it. The jury wasn't his audience today; Karen was.

"You had just started working at Sonny's only two weeks before Mr. Preston was shot, is that correct?"

"Yes," the young man replied.

"And you're fairly new to New York, I understand. You just moved to the city six months ago?"

"That's correct."

"So would it be fair to say that you didn't know the neighborhood very well at the time?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

Matt could hear Karen make a noise that almost sounded like a scoff. He paused for a moment, losing his train of thought. 

'Damn you, Karen,' he thought. Perhaps he'd been a little too cocky about this whole thing. He licked his lips, then ran his tongue over his teeth as he tried to remember his next question. 

"According to your deposition, you said that you heard 'several' gunshots around 1:15 a.m., is that correct?" 

He paced slightly in front of the witness stand as he continued his questioning, occasionally taking several long strides with his cane held casually in his left hand before pausing, squaring up, and leaning forward slightly with his hands wrapped around the top of the cane, using both his movement and stillness as a form of physical punctuation. As he walked, he took care to turn his head briefly toward Karen each time, allowing the smallest of wry smiles to play at the corner of his lips as he did so. 

By the time he had finished cross-examining the witness, Karen's heartbeat had become erratic and her breathing so quick and shallow that it was genuinely a distraction. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he had not expected her reaction to this little game he was playing to be so intense. But if he were to continue to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he was enjoying this far more than he'd ever expected he would. However, Karen's responses toward his carefully orchestrated tease were beginning to distract him even more than just the sheer shock he had over her presence the day before, as every deep, shaky breath that she took in an attempt to settle herself was making his heart skip and his mind go fuzzy. He resolved to dial it back for the rest of the session, lest his double agenda serve to cause damage to his case. But as he turned to walk back to his seat, he decided that he couldn't resist taking just one last opportunity to make Karen squirm.

Before he took his seat, he faced her as directly as he could estimate and smiled, smoothing his tie with his free hand before deftly folding his cane, turning, and placing it back on the far corner of the table, causing the fabric of his jacket to stretch across his shoulders once again as he did so. He heard Karen shift in her seat behind him, her pulse rapid and her breath shallow as heat seemed to rise from her like a fire in the center of the gallery. Matt couldn't suppress the smug satisfaction that he felt and wore the expression on his face for the rest of the afternoon.

\--

Maybe she had been imagining it. Whatever she thought Matt was doing, it seemed to disappear after that first witness. But the fact remained that she had written no notes whatsoever regarding the questioning of that witness, and all she could remember was Matt striding in front of the witness stand, twitching his mouth into that smile of his every so often as he sowed reasonable doubt, not only in the jury, but in her. She doubted her resolve to never speak to him again, to never let him back into her life. If she was going to cover this trial like a professional, if she was going to turn this assignment into something actually worthwhile, something had to give. And Karen was fairly certain that something was her pride.

If she was going to do this, it had to be in person, and it had to be now. As court adjourned, she gathered her belongings quickly, keeping an eye on Matt, making sure that she could catch him before he hurried out of the courthouse entirely, before she lost her resolve. She followed him out of the courtroom, several other people separating them as they exited. Matt paused when he reached the other side of the wide hallway before approaching Diamond's father and sister and speaking to them for a moment. Mr. Parker shook Matt's hand and placed his other hand on Matt's shoulder before he departed with Desmona. 

Karen watched as Matt's shoulders rose and fell with a tired-looking sigh. He turned to walk toward the exit. Now or never. Karen began walking toward him rapidly, on a mission. She noticed him stop in his tracks and tilt his head, undoubtedly hearing her approaching. She stopped in front of him, about five feet separating them. Matt straightened his head and wore an expression Karen couldn't quite decipher. She took a deep breath, intending to speak, then realizing that she had absolutely no idea what she was going to say. Instead, she stood there for several moments, her mouth slightly open, her hands trembling at her sides. Matt likewise stood largely motionless, his expression morphing gradually to something far more quizzical. 

Finally, Karen settled on three words that she was fairly confident she could speak. 

"Can we talk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this were a different kind of fic, this chapter would end with angry sex in the courthouse bathroom. But this is not that kind of fic. :P


	6. Chapter 6

"We appreciate everything you're doing for our Dia, Mr. Murdock," Alan Parker said, placing a hand on Matt's shoulder and shaking his hand. Desmona stood quietly, observing the exchange between her father and her sister's lawyer, still finding herself in a state of disbelief that any of this was real. Alan put his arm around her shoulder and led her away. Desmona glanced backward to see Matt turning to leave, then stopping abruptly.

Matt heard rapid footsteps approaching him as he took his first steps toward the exit. The low heels and the determined nature of the way they struck the floor identified the approaching individual to be Karen. Matt sucked in a breath as he stood, somewhat involuntarily, rooted to the spot where he stood. He concentrated on keeping a neutral expression and listening to her heartbeat (elevated) and her breathing (quick) as she approached. He attempted to breathe deeply and evenly, nonetheless feeling his heart sink slowly into his stomach. Karen stood before him, her heart racing and her breath rapidly pushing and pulling through her nose and mouth. She said nothing. All of this together made Karen's mood and intent impossible to read. Was she angry? It wasn't like Matt hadn't been intentionally trying to toy with her, and he figured he might deserve a certain amount of her ire for that. Or perhaps she had something to tell him about the case and was anxious about breaking her own ban on contact between them. Or maybe it was something else entirely. It was times like this when Matt wished he could distinguish facial expressions beyond just some basic ones like "happy," "sad," and "going to kill me." 

Finally, he heard a deep intake of breath, and Karen spoke. 

"Can we talk?"

Matt's expression softened, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. Regardless of what she had to say, Karen had broken the embargo between them. That alone dissolved the tension he had been feeling about her presence in court.

"Um, yeah," he said in reply, "Except I have to be in court again in a half an hour, and I haven't even had time to really look over the files yet."

He could feel Karen's face falling into an expression of disappointment, or perhaps irritation. Either way, something not good.

"Can we talk over dinner?" he recovered quickly, "I'll probably be working late, but I will need to eat at some point."

Karen didn't respond right away. Matt swore he could hear her thinking, and there were a fair number of choice words that she seemed to be holding back.

"Yeah, sure. That'll be fine," she said, a tense edge to her voice, "When and where?"

"Um, around seven?" Matt offered, "And I'm flexible about the cuisine. Are you in the mood for anything?"

"Anywhere you'll actually show up," Karen said, her tone becoming nearly icy. 

Matt found himself taken aback at Karen's attitude. "Well, there's a Greek place around the corner from my office. Miko's, I think it's called. They have good lamb."

"I swear to God, Matt if you don't show," Karen said in a low voice.

"I'll be there, I promise."

Karen took a deep breath and exhaled. "Seven-o'-clock. Miko's. You better be."

She turned on her heel and walked away, no calmer than when she'd approached.

\--

Karen sat at a slightly wobbly table inside of the Greek diner where Matt had suggested they meet. It was five past seven, and Karen found herself disappointed, but not surprised, that Matt was late. Five minutes, even fifteen, is late and even really par for Matt showing up to things. But much beyond that and it's pretty certain that he's not coming. Karen took a sip of her water and checked her phone, tapping off a quick text to Ed, offering to bring him some kotosoupa. 

She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth when she remembered that she and Ed were supposed to be having a romantic evening together, but instead she was sitting here in a hole-in-the-wall diner, waiting to have an uncomfortable conversation with someone she wasn't even sure she liked anymore. Part of her began to hope that Matt wouldn't show, because she was pretty sure she was beginning to lose her nerve, and it would be so much easier to remain angry with him forever. But just as she was giving form to that thought, Matt came bustling through the door. He took several steps inside before stopping briefly and surveying the room in his way. A small smile crept across his lips as he turned to walk toward where Karen was sitting.

"Karen," he said gently as he approached, "I know. I'm late."

He almost sounded ashamed. Apologetic. Karen regarded him with a neutral expression as he folded his cane and sat down.

"One of my cases turned out to be more complicated than I thought, and it took longer than I expected to work out a plea bargain," Matt continued.

Karen nodded warily and waved at the waiter who was sitting on the counter and surveying the mostly-empty diner. He hurried over to take their orders. 

"I'll take my usual, Costas," Matt said quickly.

"I'll have the moussaka, and an order of kotosoupa to go," Karen said.

"Alright, just a few minutes," Costas said, hurrying off.

"Kotosoupa to go?" Matt inquired, a suspicious tone to his voice.

"I was supposed to be on a date tonight," Karen said flatly, "but he's not feeling well, so I'm taking him some soup after this."

Matt swallowed, fairly certain that his heart had just gotten stuck in his throat. "Mm," he acknowledged. He then changed the subject. "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Um," Karen picked at the paper napkin that sat on the table in front of her, "Mostly I wanted to tell you that this case was assigned to me and I did everything I could to get someone else to cover it when I found out that you were on it. I thought it would be a conflict of interest given our...our history. But no one would take the assignment off my hands. So I'm stuck covering this for the _Bulletin_ , and I just wanted to make sure that...that..."

"That we can be adults about this?" Matt offered.

"Yeah, something like that." Karen had nearly shredded her napkin.

"We're just two adults, doing their jobs." Matt could hear the bits of napkin raining from Karen's hands onto the table. Her heart was still racing, and her body was trembling slightly. Her back teeth had been intermittently clenching and grinding against each other. There was something she wasn't quite telling him, though he suspected he knew what.

"Exactly," Karen said, trying to convince herself of this fiction of normalcy the two of them were creating together. 

Costas approached carrying their meals. "Moussaka?" he sat the plate down in front of Karen. "And the chef's special with extra sauce for you, Mr. Murdock." He set the other dish in front of Matt and turned his head back to Karen. "You can pick up the soup at the counter when you leave, so it'll be fresh."

Karen turned her attention to her dinner, grateful for the distraction and eager for an excuse to abandon this uncomfortable conversation for a moment.

"That smells good," Matt said, gesturing in the direction of Karen's plate. "I've only ever gotten the lamb here."

Karen shoveled a bite into her mouth to avoid conversation and immediately regretted it. It was still very hot. Her eyes watered as she reached for the napkin holder. She held the napkin to her face and opened her mouth to allow air to cool the food that was currently searing her tongue. 

Matt chuckled. "Sorry," he said, "I shouldn't laugh, but I just thought of that time with the samosas."

Karen swallowed her food and found herself suppressing a smile. "Yeah, that was pretty funny."

"So how's the moussaka? Or could you taste it?"

"It's--it's pretty good."

"Mind if I try a bite?" Matt had already reached across the table with his fork before Karen could answer.

"Sure, go right ahead," Karen said sarcastically, already knowing that Matt treated asking as a formality when it came to trying his dining companions' food. He was going to do it either way. He insisted it helped him tune out the smells of everyone else's food and let him enjoy his own food more, but Karen always suspected that Matt just liked trying everyone's food.

"Mmm, tasty. Though I'm not sure I'm a big fan of the texture of eggplant." Matt ran his tongue across his teeth. "You should really try some of my lamb. It's the best in Manhattan, I swear."

Karen reached out hesitantly with her fork to take a piece that Matt had already pushed toward her on his plate. This was beginning to feel comfortable, friendly even, and Karen wasn't sure she was ok with that yet. She placed the bite into her mouth.

"Wow," she said, still chewing, "This is amazing."

Matt smiled. "Right? I don't understand how more people don't know about this place."

"To be fair, I've walked by this place just about every day and never knew it was here. It sort of blends in with everything else. How did you find it?"

"My first day working at Legal Aid. They took me out to lunch here."

"Legal Aid, right. How's that been?"

"Challenging. Exhausting."

"So I was thinking," Karen leaned forward, resting her arms on the table, "I'm not terribly fond of this assignment, and I'll be honest, I became less fond of it when I found out you were the public defender, but the more I thought about it, the more I thought I might be able to use this to tell a bigger story--a story about public defenders."

Karen's speech sped up as she spoke, a sure sign that she was excited but also nervous about sharing her idea. Matt found himself smiling and chuckling a little. This was the Karen he knew, the Karen he'd missed these past several months.

"What?" Karen found herself suddenly self-conscious. She hadn't really meant to start rambling about her assignment and her idea, but the conversation had just kind of led there, and damn it if things almost felt normal between her and Matt right now. 

"Nothing," Matt said, shaking his head and smiling, "I think it sounds like a great idea. I can put you in touch with--"

"I'd love to hear what you have to say about it," Karen interrupted, the words coming out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

"Well, I could tell you a little, but there are so many people who have been there a lot longer--some almost twenty years, I think--and I think they'd have so much more to tell you," Matt said.

"I mean, it would be great to get a lot of perspectives, but since the story still technically has to be about the Diamond Parker case, and since you're the public defender..."

"Ah, right. I guess that would make some sense. So what do you want to know?"

"I...I hadn't really gotten that far yet. I wasn't really even planning to talk to you about this tonight. I wanted to make sure things between us could be at least kind of normal first."

"Karen, things between us will never be normal," Matt had intended his tone to be more joking than it had come out, and his statement came out much more dark-sounding than he'd meant it to.

Karen shrugged as if to admit the point. "No, I don't suppose that's really possible, is it?" Her tone had lost all of the brightness it had gained as she was telling Matt about her idea.

"But I'd like to hope that we could try again at being friends," Matt said gently and somewhat hesitantly. 

"Hm," Karen replied, pressing her lips together and pushing what was left of her food around her plate. "Maybe, eventually."

"We'll see how things go," Matt said, "But I'm glad we're talking again."

"Yeah..." Karen said, sounding somewhat noncommittal. But at the very least, she did feel much calmer than when Matt had sat down. So at least for now, she could pretend that things were normal and that Matt was just a blind attorney she used to work for. Their relationship here was strictly professional, and nothing about his unusual hobbies would seem to threaten that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew this conversation was going to be difficult and awkward to write, which is part of why it took so long. I wanted to do it justice since I had been building to it, but at the same time, it really felt like a necessary hurdle to overcome before I could get to some of the more interesting things that come after, so I'd sort of been putting it off.
> 
> Coming soon: We finally see Matt go Daredeviling for the first time in this story, and some surprises in court force Matt and Karen to work together to discover the truth.


End file.
